Hemeroteca

Categoría: Análisis musical

On April 1st, the Flaming Lips released their 13th studio recording—which has been described by Wayne Coyne as ‘bleak [and] disturbing’. Marked by a nebular haze of distorted and static synths, eerie harmonies, and distant and often falsetto lead vocals—emphasizing the psychedelic quality of the record—, The Terror is a strong concept album distinguished above all else by its impregnating sense of desolation.

The opening track, “Look The Sun Is Rising,” immediately establishes the discordant soundscape that holds steady throughout the album’s entirety. Likewise, the song’s lyrics are equally bleak and set the tone for those to follow: “Love is always something / Something you should fear / When you really miss her / Fear is all you hear”. It’s a sobering and painful awakening. It’s an acknowledgement. And this central theme of abandonment goes on to be addressed from multiple angles. “Be Free, A Way,” for instance, follows up with a sort of reluctant resignation—an acceptance to move forward into vast emptiness alone. In turn, “Try to Explain” is imploringly despondent. It’s the ultimate plea for the impossible despite awareness of its futility.

The sonic solemnness and limited melodiousness of The Terror may very well come as a surprise for casual Flaming Lips fans, but they will be in good company. As Coyne explained in a recent interview (courtesy of MusicRadar):

“Whenever we go into making a record, we do believe that we’re making ‘something’. There are ideas there, but at the same time, it’s also true that the best art is accidental—a happy by-product of something you weren’t intending to do.”

It’s been said that accidents are preferable to ideas in art for the very reason that Coyne is espousing—however, and as he clarifies, they are also inextricably linked. You have to aim before you can miss. This is exemplified beautifully on “You Lust”. The longest composition on the album, its length creates a roaming expanse that nicely hosts a spontaneous Love Supreme-esque chant—“Lust to succeed”—in place of a chorus. And, speaking to the spontaneity through which The Terror was born, the track encompasses excerpt recordings from an improvised jam the band had prior to recording that for whatever reason they were unable to recreate in a formal recording setting:

“It’s got a cool riff that started from a jam session, some of which was just a calamity. [It] only happened for a moment, but I recorded it on my phone as a video. I liked it, and I thought, ‘Let’s revisit that when this jam is over. We’ll look at the video and wonder what we were playing. But we could never really redo it, and we wound up using my phone. That’s why the track sounds so strange.”

However, despite the anger buried deep within “You Lust,” it’s the title track that is the most dissonant. Washy vocals, distorted guitars as well as the faint presence of a frantic upright bass-line collide to create a noisy climax worthy of its title. It’s a dark moment of reflection that gives way to madness.

Although experimental and electronic noises run solidly throughout the record, they are particularly haunting on “You are Alone,” where they are punctuated by eerie lead vocals again chanting the song’s title in a trance-like melodic daze. “Butterfly, How Long It Takes to Die” challenges “You Lust” as the most entrancing composition. Distant but driving percussion methodically propels the song towards its end amidst sporadically rhythmic guitar hits and pulsating pockets of reverberation. The last two tracks on the album—“Turning Violent” and “Always There… In Our Hearts”—complement each other in length and momentum as the relative tranquility of the former contrasts nicely with the atonal climax of the later.

In step with its central concept, there is no comforting pop accessibility to The Terror. It’s a dark, dissonant, and static orchestration. But the experimentalism of it fits nicely within The Flaming Lips’ discography in that it is a clear continuation of the more avant-garde direction they had taken with 2012’s Flaming Lips and the Heady Fwends (or, similarly, the dissonant but still melodic neo-psychedelia of 2009’s Embryonic). In its essence, The Terror offers listeners a stark cosmic soundscape to get lost within—which, while limited in terms of listen-ability, is quiet inviting for all those interesting in temporarily exploring an aphotic expanse of sound, ideas, and welcomed mistakes.

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May 16th, Boston, MA – There were guns, crucifixes, Adderall and weed. There was bondage, sequestered binge drinking, self-mutilation and spiritual surrendering—well, not entirely. Taking the stage at Brighton City Music Hall later than scheduled and initially behind the drum set for the opener Ha Mar Superstar (songwriter Sean Matthew Tillman’s Ron Jeremy-esque R&B alter-ego), J. Tillman greeted the crowd casually, but quickly indulged in on-stage banter. After the exaggeratedly sexualized opening act—which included dancing on the bar, a striptease, and his pop hit I need a Tall Boy—, the former Fleet Foxes drummer took the stage again, this time leading his newly formed band and as lead-singer. Explaining that he rarely plays in Boston proper but more commonly “over there by MIT in Cambridge where the military-industrial complex has perfected its most successful patent, the revolving door,” Tillman and the band performed the entirety of their newly released album Fear Fun. The overall tone of the music was true to the record—which has been described by Rolling Stone as “a compelling whirl of Laurel Canyon-echo balladry and desolate-psychedelia stomp”—but yet still benefited from the spontaneity that is supposed to accompany a live performance. In fact, the only possible source of disenchantment came from Father John Misty’s diatribes against the audience and his sesquipedalian ramblings. However, given that they were similar to those he made recently on his appearance at KCRW—which you can access here—, it’s hard to think that it was anything more than part of the show and done entirely by design. Which begs the question, why?

In an interview with LA Weekly, he explains that he adopted the moniker of Father John Misty partly as a way to escape what he felt was a growing and self-imposed entrapment to his songwriting and also as a coy reference to cocaine (as in the Led Zeppelin song Misty Mountain Hop), and his lifelong contentious quest with spirituality—as he sings in Every Man Needs a Companion, for instance “[…] I got hung-up on religion – I know it’s a waste. I never liked the name Joshua – I got tired of J”. It’s a new beginning.

With respect to the album, there are a range of topics covered as well as clever storytelling. It’s a rich multilayered collection of songs that offers imagerial lyricism throughout. The three singles that were released prior to the album were Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings, Nancy From Now On, and the Beatlesque Sally Hatchet. And each has been treated to a stylist achievement of a video—but they all share the debaucheries an alt-Americana lifestyle fueled by the conventional counter-culture comforts of booze, sex, smoke and guns. And each is an outright success both artistically and in intrigue.

Regardless of how you find the self-indulgent ramblings, the flamboyant gesticulations, and the unapologetic arrogance, there is no questioning the brilliance of the music. And that’s what’s important. Plus, there is a larger point being made. Tillman has stated that it ironically took an alter-ego for him to be comfortable enough to make his most sincere album to-date—although there is no shortage of sarcasm or hyperbole. In other words, taking yourself too seriously is suffocating. Quoting American Novelist Philip Roth, Tillman has stated: “[Father John Misty is] all me and none of me, if you can’t see that, you won’t get it. What I call it is totally arbitrary, but I like the name. You’ve got to have a name. I never got to chose mine.”

The highlight of the concert was without a doubt the music. And while Father John Misty’s antics received mixed reactions, his exaggerated arrogance served to remind us that maybe Fear Fun’s greatest conceptual achievement is its irreverence. It reminds us of how difficult it can be to live with our own expectations. And Father John Misty is J. Tillman’s incarnation of that idea—and it should be taken as such. There is liberation in rejecting what we told ourselves we had to be.